


Too Late

by Embarassedbutkinky



Series: The Stages of a Claim [2]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alien Biology, Claiming, Claiming Bites, Drunkenness, F/M, Saiyan Culture, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 11:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embarassedbutkinky/pseuds/Embarassedbutkinky
Summary: Prequel to The Stages of a Claim, set about 18 years in the past. When Bulma asked Vegeta to try and claim her without the instinctual urge, he knew it wouldn't work. She did not know he'd tried once before. May not make sense if you haven't read the first one in the series. One shot.





	Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive Vegeta in this one, it is very early in their relationship and he's not done cooking yet.

Bulma had enough on her mind lately. The Androids would be here in only a couple of years, and despite what the kid from the future had said she was going to try her hardest to figure out a weapon that could stop them. The problem was she had almost no specifications at all. ‘Androids’ could mean a hundred different things besides the obvious. Were they purely mechanical, or could there be an organic component? What kind of energy did they use? If they were humanoid were they limited to one form, or could they transform at will? With so many variables it was impossible to think of everything. Or,  _ nearly  _ impossible. She was a genius after all.

So when her mother asked her to come out for the night for some 'bonding time’, she had no qualms about saying yes. Redflag number one. She'd been too busy to look at the calendar recently. That damn calendar.

Panchy got a car to bring them to a new restaurant, one Bulma did not know the layout of. In retrospect, that was red flag number two. As they entered the lobby she could hear the chefs frantically working in the kitchen as though they were filling orders much bigger than they were used to getting. That was number three.

Still, she was completely blindsided when they stepped into the reserved room and she suddenly came face to face with all of her friends.

“Surprise!” They screamed out at her, making her wince.

“What?” She asked, taking in the sight of the bright decorations and packages on the table. The faces of the Z Fighters and their families all looked so excited that she tried to match their enthusiasm, but she really wasn't in the mood. “What are you all doing here?”

“It's your birthday, Dear,” Panchy laughed, kissing her on the cheek. “Oh, I just knew you'd forget with how busy you've been lately. You have to have a rest! I wouldn't push, but it's a milestone!”

“Thirty,” Bulma said flatly, realizing the date. “Holy crap. I'm thirty. I'm old.”

Master Roshi let out a loud scoff. “Come back and complain to me after you put another zero on the end of that!”

“You don't look a day over twenty,” Yamcha smiled brightly as she picked a seat on the opposite side of the table as him.

“Thanks, Yamcha,” she said politely through gritted teeth. They were currently on the 'off’ side of their off-again on-again relationship, and she could tell by his behavior in the last few weeks that he really wanted to change that. It wasn't going to happen.

“Hi, Bulma,” Goku said waving at her. “Chichi said I shouldn't mention how old you are, but since you said it already anyway--”

“Goku!” Chichi snapped, slapping him on the arm.

Bulma laughed. Okay, maybe it was time for a break. “Thank you all for coming out here for me. It'd be nice to just have some fun and not think about work for awhile.”

They cheered, Yamcha a little louder than the rest. Yikes. That really was her fault. Normally when they broke up she was extremely clear about the reason, then he'd come back trying to fix it, and she'd eventually give in and take him back. This time she'd been more vague though. She'd just told him it wasn't working and she couldn't see him anymore. It didn't matter what he knew, what was important was that she knew she wasn't  _ that kind _ of girl.

Nope. Not thinking about that tonight. This was a night for friends and food. And maybe some alcohol.

“How about we get some drinks?” She asked popping open the menu. “As long as we're going for relaxation I don't see the harm in having a few.”

“Now that's a plan!” Oolong said excitedly. “Roshi never shares the good stuff.”

“Yeah, it's almost like you're an unwelcome houseguest who  _ never leaves _ ,” Master Roshi grumbled. “What the hell, might as well have a few.”

“A few what?” A gruff voice asked from the doorway.

Bulma froze.  _ Please, Mom, _ she thought,  _ please tell me you didn't invite-- _

“Mr. Vegeta!” Panchy said excitedly, clapping as he came in. “Oh, I was so hoping you'd get the invitations I left for you in the Gravity Room.”

“There were fifty of them,” he mused, dropping a copy of the invitation onto the floor in front of him. “What is a birthday party, and why have I been asked here?”

_ Damn. Damn. Damn. Mom, what the hell were you thinking?  _ Bulma cursed silently to herself, covering her face in her hand.

Vegeta crossed his arms, looking disdainfully over the group. He'd attempted to wear human clothing, but it looked more alien on him than his armor, the tight black shirt still ending in his white gloves. The fighters looked a little uncomfortable  too, glancing at each other to silently as if to say 'why was he invited?’ Or more importantly ‘why did he decide to come?’ The only one completely at ease was her mother.

“It's a celebration,” Panchy explained pulling Vegeta to the table. Bulma's quickly counted the few empty seats and fought a groan when she realized his only option was to plop down right next to her. Great, a potentially fun night was now officially ruined. She'd be far too distracted to enjoy herself. It wasn't that she hated the Saiyan like a few of her friends seemed to be openly doing right now. It was something else. Bulma had a secret.

They were having sex. Like, a lot of it.

The tension had been building between them since he first stepped foot on the Capsule Corp compound. She hadn't really looked at him that way at first, she thought the energy rising between them was just frustration from having two strong-willed people live in close proximity too long. Then came that dream she'd had about him being a good kisser. It was perfectly innocent, or so she thought, but from that day she had stopped looking at him as a hostile alien threat and started looking at him as a man. A muscular, handsome man. Who lived at her house and was half naked all the time.

She'd felt the breaking point coming, they both had. Their arguments which used to end in name calling and storm-offs quickly after they began had started to take longer and happen more frequently. More than once the phrase 'make me’ had flown from her mouth, and she'd seen him consider it before stomping away.

That's when she knew she had to break up with Yamcha for good. When it finally happened she didn't want to spend the whole time feeling guilty because she was cheating, she wanted to enjoy it. It hadn't taken long. Whether it was just good timing, or whether or not he'd heard she'd broken up with 'the weakling’ as he called him she did not know.

The point was that less than ten hours after she'd called things quits with her ex, Vegeta had burst into her lab and picked a fight about the quality of the robots she had him training against. There was the usual 'blah blah Androids blah blah Super Saiyan blah blah unacceptable’ barrage of insults and complaints she was used to followed by a harsh “You  _ will _ fix it.” 

She'd stood to face him and let the challenge fall out one more time. “Make. Me.”

Then he had her pressed up against the wall, his hot mouth crushing against hers so hard it almost hurt. She'd always found the phrase ‘ripped her clothes off’ to be cliche and unrealistic, but that was what he did -- he ripped them right down the seams and left the bits of ruined cloth scattered around them as he touched her everywhere. 

She'd reached down and grabbed him through the thin training shorts that left so little to her imagination. He hissed and leaned into the touch, and she heard him say a word she'd never heard from him before.

“Bulma…”

He said her name like a curse, like a prayer, like a secret he didn't want anyone else to ever hear. She stroked him slowly and he moaned. He was so sensitive...could he possibly be a virgin? A moment ago he'd seemed so sure of himself, pushing her up against the wall to have his way with her, and now he leaned into her hand like she was the only one who could help him.

The moment didn't last long. Confident Vegeta was back, and in moments he had hitched her legs around his waist and he was inside her, thrusting so hard she slid up the wall.  _ Finally.  _  She reached between them to rub herself; she knew her body well enough to know how to enjoy this. He'd caught her movement and watched her for a moment before pushing her hand away and copying her.

He was a fast learner, she'd give him that.

That first time had been short, but satisfying in a way she'd been craving for months. He screamed when he came, and it seemed to take them both by surprise. He laid his head against her neck for a moment and said nothing. He seemed to be… waiting for something? Nothing happened. Finally he'd untangled himself from her and took his bot, walking out like nothing happened. That didn't surprise her; Vegeta didn't strike her as a pillow talk kind of guy, and it wasn't his mind she'd been lusting after. She was just glad they'd gotten through it and now they could both get back to preparing for the androids without being distracted.

Imagine her surprise when he'd waltzed right into her lab the next day, this time complaining about her inadequate Gravity Room, and he'd ended up underneath her on the floor. The next day he hadn't even pretended to have a complaint, he just burst through the door muttering something about her distracting him from training and took her on the desk. She'd had no complaints at the time, but afterwards that one had annoyed her. She'd gone to find him in the Gravity Room to let him know she was not in fact his private stress toy...and that fight had ended in her bedroom. And always that strange ending, his face pressed against her neck, waiting for something that never seemed to happen. Then he'd stalk off, somehow grumpy again only minutes afterward.

It was nothing like what she'd had with Yamcha. They'd planned out all of their time together before it happened, usually with something like 'I have to train this afternoon, do you want to have some fun before I'm too tired’? There was never a moment where he just had to have her and looked so pissed at himself for it. She wasn't delusional, though, what she and Vegeta had been up to these last few weeks was not a relationship. They still didn't talk often, and when they were around other people no one would be able to guess what they'd gotten up to only hours before. There was no flirting, no confessions of affection, just the occasional passionate groans of 'more’ or 'faster’.

It wasn't a secret, either, she lied to herself. Because a secret you went out of your way to hide because you were doing something wrong. She was a grown woman --  _ thirty, ugh -- _ and she could have some unattached sex if she damn well pleased. Still, she didn't really want to broadcast to all her friends that she was sleeping with a man who openly wanted to kill Goku, who'd killed countless others before with no remorse...but she didn't feel guilty enough to make her stop. Besides, his antisocial nature was to her benefit here; he rarely got out, and so he rarely interacted with anyone she knew.

And then her mother invited him to her birthday party.

He sank into the seat to her left as her mother excitedly explained what a birthday party was. Nothing about his body language suggested he had any connection to the woman next to him at all, she may as well be a stranger on the bus. She supposed she had his 'royal aloofness’ to thank for that.

He was ignoring her mother talking mostly, which she took as a sign of respect. When anyone else tried to blather on to him like this he usually told then to shut their mouths, but he let her go on about party hats and pinatas, neither of which were relevant to this particular party. Goku finally cut in.

“You really didn't know about birthdays, Vegeta?”

“Clearly Saiyans understand the concept of aging on the day of your birth, we just did not see the need to congratulate someone on not dying for a year. Is there food or not?”

That made Bulma chuckle and she saw Yamcha stiffen. Uh-oh. He couldn't know there was anything going on between them, but he'd clearly been planning on being her sole entertainment for the night and didn't want to share.

“Yeah, there's food, and we were just about to order some drinks. I can handle a few drinks, can you?” Yamcha sneered.

Vegeta narrowed his eyes. “First I'm supposed to congratulate the woman for aging and now I have to praise you for hydration?”

“He means alcohol,” Tien said, smelling a competition brewing. “Can the 'Prince of all Saiyans’ handle his booze?”

“Alcohol?” Vegeta asked. “I haven't heard of it. Must be some stupid Earthling thing.”

“Hah. I knew I could drink you under the table,” Yamcha huffed.

Shit. In the short time she'd known him she'd come to recognize a few of Vegeta's most common faces. There was 'everyone here is below me’, 'take off your clothes right fucking now’, and the ever hated 'someone just challenged me and I'm going to prove I'm better than them no matter what it costs.’ The third one was frozen on his smirking face as he crossed his arms, staring down Yamcha. “Bring the alcohol, weakling. I'll drink four times as much as you for an appetizer.”

“Um, counter argument,” Krillin said, raising his hand. He was having a terrifying vision of two drunk Super Saiyans accidently destroying Earth if they sneezed too hard. “Maybe don't get Vegeta super drunk? We have enough trouble with him sober. What if he goes on a rampage?”

“I don't want any,” Goku assured him. “I'll keep an eye on him if he wants to get drunk.”

“I don't need your help, Kakarot!” Vegeta spat. “I take it that alcohol alters your mental state? It takes a lot to affect a Saiyan. I'll be perfectly lucid while this clown is left laying in a street somewhere.”

“We'll see,” Yamcha grinned, calling for a few bottles of liquor for the table.

“You can beat him, Yamcha!” Pu'ar chirped happily.

Bulma's sighed. “I was just going to get a fruity drink with 'tropical’ in the name.”

“You want some, Woman?” Vegeta asked as Yamcha poured the shots.

Bulma's looked around the table to Chichi, and her mother. “You mean me?”

“Obviously.”

“There's more than one woman here, Vegeta.”

“I always mean you,” he admitted. He watched Tien and Yamcha throw back the shot and did the same, wincing very slightly at the burn.

“Oh. Uh, sure, I'll have one.”

Yamcha poured it himself before Vegeta could reach out and take the bottle. She drank it quickly; she was no stranger to a drink now and then, but even she winced. 

“Just to be clear, I am not trying to out drink anyone. I intend to remember the night.”  _ And not say anything I regret,  _ she thought bitterly.

“You couldn't keep up anyway,” Vegeta scoffed.

Bulma looked up and caught Goku grinning at her, darting his eyes suggestively at Vegeta. “What, Goku?”

“Nothing,” he said cheekily. “I just wondered if you guys were getting along, that's all.”

Piccolo cleared his throat and shot Goku a warning look.

Vegeta went to say something but she cut him off. He was probably just going to tell him to mind his own business, but she wasn't positive he knew she wanted to keep their situation a secret and she wasn't going to take the chance. 

“So Gohan how's training going?” She asked loudly.

The boy smiled and started talking about training with his father and Piccolo. She felt the Prince's eyes on her; he'd noticed her interrupting him. He apparently realized she did not want to talk about what had happened between them. Then he looked across the table to Yamcha, and she saw an angry scowl fall over his face. His grip on the side of the table tightened and he leaned back in his chair.

What was he mad about? They hadn't discussed keeping their fling a secret, but then they really hadn't discussed much at all. After Gohan finished speaking Vegeta tapped his glass against the table. “Ready for another, Weakling?”

“Damn straight. Tien?”

Tien nodded, holding out the glass.

“Can we just slow down?” Bulma asked as they passed the bottle around. “We haven't even got our food on the table yet.”

“Presents!” Panchy squealed, clapping.

“Mom,” she sighed, “I don't need presents, we're rich. Please tell me you didn't go all out this year?”

“You'll just have to see!” Her mother winked.

The presents piled up as the food finally came. Bulma wasn't one to turn down something shiny, but she was very aware of the fact that her friends we're not as well off as her and didn't like the idea of them spending a lot of unnecessary money. To her relief they seemed to know that about her, as the gifts that followed were mostly homemade. Chichi gave her fresh jam made from a fruit tree Goku had found not far from their property, and Bulma insisted on opening it there at the table for everyone to try a little on their bread. Gohan gave her a dragon ball; apparently Piccolo and Goku had asked him to collect one alone as part of his training, but they had no reason to keep it for now. Yamcha just had to be the pace breaker.

She opened the small white box with a bow he'd handed to her and smiled politely when she found her favorite (but extremely overpriced) perfume inside. “Thank you, Yamcha, it's my favorite.”

“Anything for you, Bulma.”

Vegeta slammed his shot glass on the table so hard she was afraid it would shatter. He slid off his gloves and plopped them on to the table. “Another shot, humans.”

As Yamcha poured another round Bulma thanked everyone for their gifts. Yamcha smiled innocently. “Was that everyone? I didn't see Vegeta's gift anywhere.”

Vegeta regarded him darkly. “Is it really necessary to pour such a small amount into each glass? Seems like the objective would be reached much sooner if you doubled the amount. Unless you're attempting to pace yourself.”

Yamcha complied, staring the prince down as he poured extra in each glass. Tien held a hand over his. “Uh, no thanks, I'll stick to singles.”

Bulma rolled her eyes, deciding to ignore both of them. She fell into polite conversation with Chichi while the others discussed what they'd been up to since they last parted after Frieza's defeat. She heard the shots being poured but chose not to count on purpose. She did not care who could drink more, they could have their silly competition and leave her out of it. She ordered her damn fruity drink and decided to just have fun. A good hour passed where she didn't have to think about the situation she'd somehow found herself in.

That was about the time she felt his ungloved fingers slide across her knee.

She froze mid-sentence but hid it well behind a fake sneeze. The tips of Vegeta's fingers slid up her thighs slowly, moving aside the soft fabric of her little blue dress. She did a quick look around the table and was certain no one could see what was going on. His face was as unreadable as ever and his posture so still she would have never known his hand was moving if it wasn't tracing soft circles against the skin.

This was new. He didn't touch her softly, or at least he never had before. They were always hard and fast, two needs being sated through brute force and strength of will. The tips of his rough fingers dragged against her skin slowly, but she imagined this was as gentle as they could be.

Okay, they had her attention again. Tien had quit long ago and settled for a pleasant buzz. Yamcha was looking pretty red in the face now, and as he went to pour another shot she saw him having a little trouble lining the rim up to the glass. 

“Krillin, pour me another couple shots,” Yamcha asked, slurring slightly.

Pu'ar hummed nervously over Yamcha's shoulder. “Don't you guys think you've had enough?”

Vegeta shrugged noncommittally. “I feel nothing. The human can chose to admit defeat if he likes, it's either now or when he passes out.”

Yamcha waved him off, turning his attention back to Bulma. “Bulma, I gotta ask you somethin’.”

The fingers on her thighs traveled upward. She fought off the gasp as he pressed his fingertips against her silk panties, slowly rubbing circles over her clit. She tried to remain focused.

“Woman, the Weakling is trying to ask you something,” Vegeta said, a ghost of a smirk playing across his lips.

“Sorry Yamcha, I spaced off. What did you need?”

“I wanted to ask why we split up so much,” the drunk fighter asked sadly, slumping over the table slightly. “I don't see why we need to. We always get back together in a month or so. I told you, I'm sorry about last January, it won't happen again.”

Bulma was about to answer, she'd been prepared for this question when they broke up. Vegeta's finger pulled the fabric away and traced down her wet slit. The words died on her tongue and her script flew out the window. She had to think on the fly.

“I don't think we should date anymore. No more on and off. It's been _fourteen_ _years_ since we met Yamcha. If we were compatible we'd know it by now.”

Apparently that was the correct answer. The wet finger slipped inside her and his thumb came down on her sensitive bud.

“We  _ are  _ compatible, Bulma,” he insisted. “No one could treat you the way I could.”

_ That's kind of the point. _ She tried to think bitterly. It was hard to be upset right now. Vegeta had found her favorite spots through trial and error in their meetings, and he'd memorized them all. A second finger slid inside and she tried to make sure she was breathing normally.

“Yamcha, I do not want to get back together. I'm not a teenager hunting dragon balls for the perfect boyfriend anymore. Besides, with all of your training we barely see each other anyway.”

“You said you liked my training! Or at least you like the muscles and the trophies. It's my  _ job _ , Bulma. That's what people have to do when they're not born rich.”

“The last real job you had was playing baseball, and you complained about it all the time. Before that you just robbed people in a desert.”

The fingers picked up pace. She didn't like the idea that he was rewarding her for fighting with Yamcha, but she'd been meaning to say most of these things for a long while now, and the third 'Tropical Madness’ had gone down really smooth.

“You liked that I had a past,” Yamcha said, slamming his glass down. “You’ve always had a thing for bad boys.”

_ You're telling me,  _ she thought. “This is unnecessary, Yamcha. I don't want to date you anymore. The conversation’s over. Please let's just drop it.”

“It's over when I say it's over!” He snapped. The liquor bottle broke in his hand and Krillin and Tien were on him in an instant, making sure he wasn't going to get violent. Pu'ar let out a startled gasp and jumped backward. Vegeta's hand leapt away from her and she saw him tense for a fight. Yamcha swayed drunkenly and Tien placed a hand on his back.

“I'm sorry Bulma,” Tien said, “I think he's had a little too much. We'll get him home. 

“I warned him to not try to outdrink a Saiyan,” the prince scoffed.

Tien and Krillin lead Yamcha put with Pu'ar, and the others fidgeted awkwardly. Chichi cleared her throat. “It was a lovely party, Bulma. It is a school night, though, so we should get going. Thank you.”

“All Mom's work,” Bulma assured her, “but thank you for coming.”

Panchy kissed Bulma's head and wandered off to find the staff to settle her bill. As the others gathered up their things she felt Vegeta catch her arm. He spoke very quiet so that even she could barely hear him.

“Woman, I need to stay here for a while.”

“Why?”

“I'm completely fucked up.”

“Huh? Really?”

“Yes. If I stand I will fall.”

“You look...so normal.”

“A warrior stands firm in the presence of his enemy. But the room started spinning about three shots ago.”

“Oh.”

“Stay with me,” he whispered.

Her eyes widened. He must be drunk to ask for her company. “Hey, Mom, I'm going to stick around and have one more drink, a friend of mine will be stopping by soon. You guys head on out, I'll get a car home.”

“Okay, Dear,” Panchy smiled. “Do you need a ride home Mr. Vegeta?”

“No.”

Goku grinned and opened his mouth to say something, but Piccolo hurried him out of the room.

Bulma flagged down a waiter and ordered one more drink for herself. Once they were alone a mask seemed to fall from Vegeta's face and he slumped forward against the table, one hand against his head. “How long does this last?”

“Depends how much you had,” she grimaced. “Did you count the shots?”

“I attempted to. I know I had two more than The Weakling.”

She suddenly remembered she was supposed to be pissed at him. She slapped his shoulder and he raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Just what the hell did you think you were doing with your hand? In  _ public,  _ you pervert?”

He smiled mischievously and mumbled, “Birthday present. You were enjoying it. Until  _ he  _ ruined it.”

That was when she realized she had misread his mood. He wasn't angry at all.  _ Jealous _ ? She scoffed. “Some present. You get me all worked up right in front of my friends and then leave me high and dry.”

His hand fell back to her leg but she caught it. He squeezed her thigh gently anyway. “I want you. Right now.”

“You're just drunk,” she said, pushing his hand away.

“I wasn't drunk yesterday. Or the day before. Or the the day before,” he taunted, pushing his hand further up. “We're alone. That's what you want isn't it? For no one to know?”

“We're in a public place--”

He stood quickly, too quickly, and grabbed the table to steady himself. He took her hand and the world flew by her incredibly fast. Before she knew what was happening he'd pulled her into the small bathroom and closed the door, locking it behind them.

“This is still public, Vegeta--” she started, but he cut her off by capturing her in a frenzied kiss, pressing her back against the wall. His mouth tasted like liquor

“Please.”

A new first word from his lips. His hand ripped her small panties away, and she was going to have to give him hell for that later; he couldn't ruin her whole wardrobe, dammit. It was hard to argue right now, though.

His desperate lips kissed down her throat, but didn't stop there. He grabbed the thin fabric of her dress and pushed it high up her body, exposing her up past her bra as he kissed his way down. When he dropped to his knees he lifted her like she weighed nothing at all, supporting her back against the wall and throwing her legs over his shoulders as his tongue plunged into her, exploring places it hadn't before.

Her hands tangled in that gravity resistant hair. They'd never done this before, nothing nearly this intimate. He pulled one hand free and held her effortlessly with his other, quickly pushing two fingers back inside her. All protest left her mind as she clung to him, barely believing what was happening.

“Vegeta,” she gasped out. “What...what are you--”

He leaned his face back to watch hers, not stopping his ruthless hand. “Tell me The Weakling is not allowed to do this,” he barked in a rough voice.

She blinked dizzily. “What? You mean Yamcha?”

He sped up and she cried out, leaning against him. “Ya-yamcha’s not allowed to do this,” she obeyed.

“Tell me you want me.”

“I want you!” She blurted, willing to say anything to make him continue.

Vegeta dropped her legs to the ground and pulled his pants off quickly. He grabbed her and set her on the sink's counter, pulling her right to the edge and pushing himself into her. Her hands searched for purchase, catching the faucet in one grasp and the back of his neck in the other. 

In the fluorescent light she could now see the redness in his pale cheeks, the slight glassiness of his eyes as they locked with hers. He leaned his face against her neck as he usually did.

“I  _ want  _ you,” Vegeta gasped against her skin as he thrust in and out of her frantically. “Why can't I have you?”

Bulma frowned slightly. How much more could he want? She felt her climax building and she held him a little tighter. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to be mine.”

Any other time she may have protested, but the world was shrinking around her as the sweet tension built. For this moment there was no shame, no secrets, no friends who might think less of her if they knew. There was only the two of them in a private dance, wrapped together like two parts of a set that was never meant to be apart in the first place.

Her body tensed as she reached her peak and she managed to squeak out, “Fine, I'm yours.”

Vegeta bit her neck.

“Ow!” She shouted, pulling away. “You almost broke the skin!” 

He came suddenly, his loud cry echoing in the small room so loudly she knew the rest of the building could hear him. He dropped his head down to her shoulder. “Did...did it work?”

“Did  _ what  _ work?” Bulma's asked, rubbing her sore neck. “Did that turn me on, you mean? Not so much, never been into the whole 'romantic vampire’ bullshit. Keep your teeth to yourself, Mister.”

He seemed confused, disoriented, and for a moment she felt guilty about even having sex with him in this state, though he'd been the aggressor. He shook his head, waiting for something again. “Can't...can't tell if it worked. Bite, sex, mark.” He slapped a strange symbol tattooed on to his chest. “You need this.”

“Excuse me?” She paled.

“This. Vegeta. You need it on your skin. Where do you do that on Earth?”

“You're out of your mind if you think that's going to happen,” she laughed, crossing her arms.

“It's  _ next  _ Woman, you said yes. Where do we go?” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her out towards the door.

“Vegeta!” She shrieked, stopping him. “We're  _ naked!” _

He shrugged. “I don't care.”

Her eyes glanced up and down his muscled body and didn't care much either, but she knew the restaurant full of people might.

“You have to get dressed.”

“Then you'll tell me where you go on Earth for this?” He asked, tapping his chest again.

“Fine,” she sighed, pulling her dress down and trying to look presentable in the mirror. He slid his pants back on as she tried to flatten her hair out. “On Earth, people go to tattoo parlors. There's one on Pierce Street, but I'm not getting a tattoo.”

His heavy hands wrapped tightly around her hips. “You must.”

She crossed her arms, deciding she knew exactly how to make him drop this. “Tell you what, Buddy. I'll get a tattoo if  _ you  _ get one too. Anything I want, anywhere I want.”

He considered it. “Agreed.”

The smile fell from her face. “What?”

“I accept your terms,” he said, pulling her from the bathroom and quickly toward the front door, earning a few annoyed glanced from other customers who'd gotten an earful already. They stepped into the cold night and she wished bitterly that she had more clothes on.

“Uh, you may want to reconsider that,” she said, thinking quickly. “I'll make you get a happy kitty put on your arm,  _ permanently. _ ” It didn't seem to phase him, so she tried again. “How about “Goku can kick my ass” right across your chest? You'll never be able to fight shirtless again without everyone seeing it.”

He growled, but continued dragging her outside. “Which way?”

“Left,” she said nervously. “This is a bad idea! You're just drunk. He'll, I'm kinda drunk. They wouldn't let us get them anyway like this.”

“I'd like to see those humans say no to me,” he huffed. He navigated the streets quickly, asking her occasionally for directions. 

“On your ass!” Bulma threatened. “I'll make you get one right on your ass.”

“Good, no one will see it,” he challenged back.

“Vegeta!” she barked, digging her heels down to stop them. He could have pulled her along but her resistance made him pause. “This is insane. I'm not getting a weird symbol tattooed on my chest just because you have some stupid feud going on with Yamcha.”

“This isn't about him, Woman, it's about…” he trailed off, not drunk enough to say anything like that. “Everything will be easier afterward. You will understand. Help me finish it.” He wasn't begging, she wasn't sure he could, but it was close. His stoic face was lined with pain and effort as he fought to keep his mind clear. He was annoyed, but his indifference was gone. He  _ cared _ about this for some reason she did not know. He cared so much he was asking for her help.

It hurt. For a moment he did not look like a terrifying planet destroyer, or like the living temptation that had drawn her in. He had a weakness.

She sighed, shaking her head slowly. “I...okay. But  _ not  _ on my chest. And I'm not getting something I can't even read.”

He resumed their journey, dragging her towards the small parlor in the distance. “ _ English  _ then,” he spat.

As predicted, the artist tried to turn them away. One whiff of the fumes coming from Vegeta and he shook his head, telling them to come back tomorrow when they sobered up. Vegeta swung one hand down on the counter and cracked it easily, informing him the next one would be on his spine.

The poor lone shop owner shivered and locked the front door, terrified of another customer coming in. Bulma set a reassuring hand in his shoulder, promising to pay for the counter and pay extra for the work. That seemed to calm him a little and he quickly gathered his supplies, asking what Vegeta would like.

“Her first.”

“Not a chance,” she informed him. “You might pass out before your turn, and I'm not doing it alone.”

“ _ Fine.  _ Me first. What and where, Woman?”

“Right butt cheek,” she smirked. “My name. B-U-L-M-A.”

“Do it,” he ordered, pulling off his pants. The artist had him get into position on the table. Bulma was sure he'd chicken out any minute now. He didn't even flinch when the needle started into his skin. He regarded her with unbothered eyes, smirking when he saw how surprised she was that their agreement was truly going forward.

It didn't take long. The artist tried to explain about aftercare and what to expect but Vegeta waved him off. The prince patted the table.

“Your turn. It has to say House Vegeta, the place being different is acceptable.”

“How about just Vegeta?” She asked, not particularly wanting to represent an alien royal family. At least some day when she was a grandma and someone asked about it she could just write it off as an old flame's name, not a weird alien symbol she didn't understand.

He considered it. “That's acceptable.”

She hopped up on the table and pulled her dress up, patting her own cheek. “Right here, same spot.”

“Why there?” Vegeta asked.

“So no one sees it.”

“It's  _ supposed _ to be seen.”

“Too bad, if you want this done that's where it's going.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall as the artist started his work. Bulma wasn't nearly as stone-faced, she squealed and whined the entire time, trying not to squirm.

He flew home with her in his arms. She'd held onto people as they flew before, but he was still unsteady and she found herself clinging to him to not fall off. It was very late when they landed on the balcony outside of her room, and she expected him to leave immediately for his. Instead he stumbled into her room, dropping ungracefully onto her bed and staring at the ceiling.

“Room still spinning?” She asked him.

“Never stopped,” he confirmed. “I will never drink alcohol again. Well, I will never drink for pleasure. If The Weakling wants another go I'll crush him.”

She plopped down on the bed next to him and yawned. “Are you staying?” She asked, meaning ‘was he staying in this room for the night?’.

“I don't know if I can,” he said, answering a different question entirely. “I can't train like this. You're too distracting. I  _ will  _ reach Super Saiyan and defeat the Android's, and then Kakarot, but I can't do it with you... _ existing  _ all over the damn place. Bitch.”

She sat up angrily and pushed him hard in the side, managing to knock him off his unstable balance and send him tumbling to the floor. 

“Are you kidding me?” She yelled. “I go and do something nice for you, on  _ my _ birthday, I might add, and all you do is insult me?”

He was suddenly on top of her, holding her arms out to either side by her wrists. “Did it work?”

“Did  _ what _ work?” She grumbled, trying to free herself.

He let go on one wrist and put his hand against her cheek, leaning his forehead against hers. “I can't feel anything. I can't hear anything. I was wrong. Too old.”

“Excuse you,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I'm only thirty.”

“I'm thirty-one,” he sighed, dropping his head to the pillow next to her face.

She laughed softly. “You're not exactly ancient.” She waited for him to speak but he didn't. His weight settled down onto her slowly. “Vegeta?”

He snored softly in her ear.

“Shit,” she mumbled, wiggling uncomfortably under his weight. At least he wasn't wearing his armor so his body had some give. There was no hope of moving him. She just leaned back and let her eyes droop slowly.

\--------------------

Ow.

Bulma opened her eyes to a blurry world. Her mouth was dry and her head ached, and it took her several moments to make sense of why. The night came back in bits and pieces -- the restaurant, the bathroom, the tattoos, and the Saiyan who'd apparently disappeared before she woke up.

She laid in bed until her eyes stopped stinging, and then decided she was hungry. The lights of the Capsule Corporation's main house were brighter than she remembered and she made it to the kitchen with her eyes barely open.

“Morning, My Dear,” her father said warmly from the table. “Or, I suppose afternoon. How was the party? Sorry I couldn't make it, had a conference call.”

“Mmhmm,” she mumbled, still not ready for real conversation. She grabbed some old leftovers from the fridge and sank into a chair.

“You'll be wanting some water,” he chuckled, pulling her out a glass. “It's the best thing for a hangover.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“No problem, I told Vegeta the same thing.”

She paused. “Vegeta? You've seen him? Where is he?”

He gestured to the clock. “Training of course. I told him he should take a few hours to rehydrate first and he called me a...well he didn't think that was necessary.”

“Same old Saiyan,” she muttered, sipping at the water. What had she expected? Did she really think Vegeta would be by her side when she woke up? Still, despite his gruffness, despite his contempt for just about everyone she'd seen him come into contact with, his words from the night before echoed in her brain. ‘I want you to be mine.’ What did that mean?

She distracted herself. There was plenty of work to do, lots of designs she was putting together for machines to destroy the Android's, or at least give them the upperhand. At some point he'd have to come out of the Gravity Room and they could talk about what had happened.

It was about 5 in the evening when she heard the ship powering up. She ran outside, catching him carrying the last of his gear over his shoulder as he loaded up to leave. 

“Vegeta!” She called.

She saw him pause and stiffen a little, but then he ignored her and walked slightly faster into the ship. She managed to make it to the door before he could close it.

“Just where do you think you're going?” She asked, arms crossed.

“Your facilities are too inadequate for me to train in any further. I will achieve Super Saiyan on a more worthy planet, then return to crush the androids alone.”

“You're really leaving?” She scoffed. “After everything you said last night?”

“What are you blathering about?” he spat. “I said nothing last night.”

“You weren't  _ that _ drunk,” she said suspiciously. “You definitely remember, you just don't want to talk about it.”

“I don't have time for your delusions, Woman,” he insisted, turning from her to set his coordinates.

Woman. He'd said her name only once, that first time when he leaned into her touch. Sometimes she thought he pretended he didn't remember it, just to prove how unimportant she was. But now she knew he couldn't forget her. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, it was hard to forget someone when their name was permanently written on your skin.

She smirked devilishly, then slapped his ass over the tender spot. He let out a startled cry and spun around furiously, but she threw herself forward and caught him in a kiss. Despite his harsh words his lips responded to hers immediately, his hands wrapping around her waist to pull her closer. They broke apart and his eyes danced over the controls, obviously trying to decide the best place to lean her against so they could continue.

Instead she stepped away from him, one finger still on his chest. “You go to space Vegeta, but remember one thing. Your ass is mine. When your done playing Mr. Tough As Nails Don't Need Anyone Warrior, you come home to  _ me _ . I've decided to keep you, don't make me regret it.”

Vegeta looked shocked as he stared at her with wide eyes, but he said nothing and she took that as a good sign. She turned on her heel without another word and walked away, feeling his eyes on her as she stalked back into her lab. Thirty wasn't that old, she had time to work on him, and Bulma Briefs was not in the habit of failing when she put her mind to something.  
  



End file.
